


Delicate Annihilation

by BrightSea



Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:01:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightSea/pseuds/BrightSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late. They are talking (or 'one is giving a reluctant speech on the nature of things and the other is listening because it's way too hot to do anything else').</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicate Annihilation

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from 'Delicate Annihilation' by Access to Arasaka. The rest is... silence? And not really a 'Loki: Agent of Asgard' piece; rather a short variation on the subject.

_Delicate annihilation_ – says Loki. His long fingers comb through thick, foggy air. Magic makes it half-opaque, like liquid smoke, long, oscillating strands of silence. Thor stares. He can’t help it. Loki won’t look at him now.

Loki is holding his hand near the windowsill. The echo of his chant fills the chamber, resonates between the walls, makes breathing a conscious effort. The marble is decomposing slowly, turned into a glassy shadow that stretches from its former contour to Loki’s fingernails. Thor stares. His brother is playing the reality around them as if he was playing the harp.

Thor wants to… he doesn’t know. He wants. Frustration scrapes at his insides, hungry and violent. Loki admires his work, a tree branch covered with delicate petals of spring flowers, all made of stone, so thin one can look through them, all ready to be crushed with one angry grasp. Loki’s magic smells of ozone and sandalwood.

_His… or my own…_ \- Loki hesitates, – _mistake was to believe that destruction is the end to every pain._ Thor gulps. His brother is younger now, different, a little softer and a little sharper at the same time, finer, but somehow less ethereal. _It never helps_ – Loki continues, - _but it may leave you in a much greater sadness._

Thor can see his brother’s neck, and a mess of tangled hair above his shoulders. Tiny beads of sweat glisten on his damp skin. A hot, summer evening is dragging slowly towards its end.

_If you can still feel it_ – Loki’s fingers close over a crispy stone petal and crush it with a muffled crack. _Sadness, pain…_ \- he explains, - _or anything. Most of times, however, you can’t feel a thing._

There’s no way back, thinks Thor, desperate and anxious, suddenly tired of his childish faith in Loki’s magic. No way back. Never.

_No,_ \- Loki’s hand stills mid-air. Thor can’t see his smile, but he could swear he can hear Loki smiling sadly, knowingly, - _Every little thing we see is a kind of illusion._ The movement of Loki’s hand is unexpected, quick, disruptive. The windowsill looks perfectly normal again, without any weird stone branches protruding out of its smooth surface. The smell of ozone intensifies, then fades.

_Go, brother,_ \- Loki’s voice is dry, almost a whisper. It reminds Thor of desert sand. _Go,_ \- Loki repeats. A request, not a plea, - _I wish to be alone_. Thor doesn’t comply, and Loki never notices this. The night encompasses them both, air sticky and suffocating, clinging to their skin.


End file.
